We hoist a cake and a beverage to the number 42 this weekend. We really thought for a moment that you might be the slot where the roulette ball stopped. Barring any unfortunate encounters with black bears or city buses in the next few days, looks like we were wrong. All the chips go to the house. And we couldn't be more tickled.
We'll flip half the digits in the next few days and put a "3" where the "2" has served us so well. The party will go into the night...and into the fall...and into the New Year, if things go as planned. The travel bug has bitten - hard. We can just barely pass a mass market paperback book without smelling the ocean. This phenomenon has occurred before. This year, it happens to coincide with a birthday, which takes it up to an all-new level. Your dear blogger parts with money about as easily as a quadriplegic does the Macarena. If anyone is sitting near Katie, you might advise her to bar the door. The checkbook is out and we're hitting the road.
We caught a vision of blogging from Puerto Vallarta yesterday. Wi-fi being what it is, we figured it would be a nice change of pace.
BAH! We want to put our toes in water that didn't come from a tap! We want to be winked at by people from other countries! We want to drink Pina Coladas from sun-up to well past sun-down and back again and eat off of Esther's Taco Cart at 4 a.m. just because it's there. We are resort people. Resorts we shall have. Puerto Vallarta is just one. We also have Greece firmly in our sights.
An apartment overlooking the sea, a coolish breeze requiring an authentically next-door knitted wool cardigan over the linen ensemble, a sketch pad and hunk of charcoal just for show, a James Patterson mystery half-opened on the lap, and one of those completely un-self-conscious, open-mouthed, head thrown back naps in front of God 'n everybody. Oh heaven! Take me now. Go haul yourselves all over the Acropolis and back if you must. Just leave me right here by the view and bring back something I recognize for dinner. That's the after-Holidays plan.
For the rest of you Americans who do not know the name Eureka Springs by heart, this will be a revelation that could destroy the entire culture of the place. But there is a little gay mountain mecca in Arkansas that will make you thank your founding fathers you didn't have to hire a sherpa to get there. We went a couple years ago to enjoy the under-priced luxury of an in-room jacuzzi, porch-settin' as a viable recreational option, and shopping on real cobblestone streets that would make Brussels herself jealous. That we made the trip in September, come leaf-changing time, was pure kismet. God herself never envisioned a scene so beautiful.
The B&B was run by two straight women who were completely lesbian in appearance, demeanor, style, and living quarters. This is the kind of eclecticism that keeps Eureka Springs, AR on its toes. We approve. The porch and upper balconies go all the way - no alllll the way around the house to where they meet the cliff against which the house is built to keep it just barely off the street. Access to the room is behind a door that was disguised with a mounted water fountain to throw off the casual lurker - a nice Batman Touch.
Breakfast is served daily every evening in the room. A basket appears from nowhere with scones and croissants, jellies and butter so cold that it's just spreadable come morning. Impeccable timing. There's a fridge inside that dresser where the TV hides. They don't keep track of what you eat or drink. If you need any more, just holler. The house is at the top of the winding street that is home to the hysterically diverse mom and pop shops that crowd against one another in good neighbor charm. Across the street is The Post Office, which means you see everybody at least once. It seems folks don't much like having the mail brought to them in Eureka Springs. It's nicer to get out and meet somebody when you need to collect your own, I suppose.
A few doors down from The Post Office is the Tobacco Shop. Anywhere else, it would be a Head Shop. In Eureka Springs, it's a Tobacco Shop. No winks. No nods. It just is. But you can get a hookah, a bong, rolling papers and the most amazing vanilla-flavored cigarettes you ever died smoking. They have them in cinnamon and chocolate and a variety of other death-defying flavors, too. We plan to try them all this time. Tempis Fugit and all that.
Don't tell any questionable characters you know, but the joint we laud is The Elmwood House. You can see a bit of it online at http://www.eurekaelmwoodhouse.com/. Don't forget to mention "After Therapy". You won't get a discount. We just appreciate the publicity.
We're in high Carpe Diem as we finish this lap. We invite you to hang on, tag along and follow closely. We sit down a lot nowadays - just to look around and make sure we haven't missed anything. But we're still going places. This year...literally. Thanks for a fine year.
And a note to Whoever Makes These Things Happen: We'll take another one about this time next year, too.
No comments:
Post a Comment